“Go,” Grace said, smiling. “I will finish up here.”

I stood up and walked out of the ballroom, through the foyer, and out the front doors.

The night air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.

The moon was high, casting a silver light over the gravel driveway.

I walked down the stone steps toward the gardens.

The gravel crunched beneath my shoes.

I stopped near the old stone fountain, where the water was still and dark.

The silence of the estate was comforting after months of noise and lies.

I took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill my lungs.

For the first time in years, I felt safe in my own home.

Then, I heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel behind me.

I turned around, expecting to see Grace or Matteo.

Instead, a figure was standing near the shadow of the weeping willow.

The light of the moon did not reach their face.

“Who is there?” I called out.

The person did not answer, but they took a slow step forward.